World Wherein We Win
by cescaloca
Summary: Love became weakness for them, but what if it became a force they held onto and kept them alive? Alternate Ending.


CLATO 5EVAH, hope you guys enjoy this one. I was heartbroken over the movie because feels. I literally crying and I nearly killed the girl behind me for saying that Clato is dead and Glato lives.

* * *

"Clove."

"Clove."

"Clove!"

"Huh? What?"

"You're up next!"

That was the most utterly embarrassing thing that has happened to her during her stay in the Capitol.

She was human and it was perfectly acceptable to have moments like such. But at the time of the Games, such faulty action was inexcusable. Especially to someone like Clove. Her right hand lingered at her mid-thigh and her fingers fiddled with the hem of her short autumn orange dress. Her golden heels clattered against the black granite floors of the tiny hall.

_One breath. Exhale. One breath. Exhale. You can do this._

She bobbed her head to the right, next to the left and she heard her bone pop. _This will give you sponsors, make it count._

The loud applause and howling greeted her ears harshly as she heard Caesar Flickerman's voice boom out her name and her district number as she emerged out of the sparkling blue doors. A huge, but fake, smile took over Clove's petite face and enthralled the audience. Who would've thought, they were fooled. But they've lived in the Capitol for so long, maybe it was a talent to not see through the fake smiles and body modifications.

Caesar took her hand in his and said her name once more before she plopped down on the white couch.

"So Clove, you volunteered as tribute. Not an unlikely sight in your district. What ran through your mind the moment you realized the verdict that you were District Two's tribute?" questioned Caesar.

"You know, it's really a great honor. Don't want anyone stealing my spotlight," replied Clove with forged indignation.

The audience of Caesar's program laughed at the show of her innocent confidence. A sponsor or two she has already bagged, but when the interview finishes, she can only hope to get more. Skills and strategy could get her far, but a simple matchstick from a loyal sponsor could change everything for her in the arena.

"What about the family back at home, and your sister who was a previous victor? Do you miss them?" Caesar asked with an emotional tone of voice.

"Of course, my sister drives me to train harder and harder every day. Same goes for my family, who has been there for me ever since, encouraging me," Clove answered with a straight face.

It was all a lie.

It seemed a miracle to her how she could answer all the questions and still manage to smile. Her head was clouded with painful images of abuse and indifference from her family, and one could say that the Games were her idea of an escape. A wicked escape, that is. Since her family has never been there for her in the most supportive way possible, she used the Games and training as a distraction. Not everyone in her district is remotely pleasant, and majority of them are fastidious, but she found relief in the fact that she could at least please some of them with her bizarre ways and militant instincts. Cato, to name one.

All she wanted was his attention, to impress him because he was the only who ever came close to besting her at what she did best. By the time she volunteered, she knew it was going to be easy – snapping the frail necks of her weak opponents, piercing the flesh of her enemies with her knife and giving them a sinister look they'll never forget before they part with the cruelties of this world – everything. Easy as pie. But it wasn't. He just had to ruin it every single time.

A victor she'd come back, but it seemed more difficult the moment his hand shot up amongst a crowd of burly-looking boys. Of course, it was a treat to be chosen as tribute for the Games, moreover, to volunteer. And this boy wouldn't let it pass.

"Clove, what can you say about your fellow tributes? Anything…interesting?" Caesar teased, knocking Clove out of her trance.

"Well, only one of us comes out. Good luck with that," she answers, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards in a sarcastic smile.

"There you go, viewers. The terrifyingly lovely Clove from District 2! A round of applause!"

Across her face was a smile for winners—the only smile she'd pull out of her arsenal when she deeply needed it most. The thought of Capitol people sending her silver parachutes reassured her. Sponsors were what she needed, and sponsors she shall get. It was like having your own rich slaves giving you what you require to survive in times of great need. The best part was they're even dressed in the most ludicrous-looking outfits in the world, which made Clove stifle a little giggle.

* * *

She managed to gracefully exit the set and head towards the blue doors she previously passed through. A tall figure was approaching her, and the closer she got, the smile on her face slowly dissolved into a scowl. The person was clad in blue and his blond hair was styled to perfection, and not a single feature held a flaw. Only her fellow district 2 tribute could pull perfection off as well as she can, and it crushed her inside to know that someone actually stands a chance against her in the arena.

Cato had halt in front of Clove and pretended to stroke his non-existent beard.

"Not bad, Clove. Not bad. Could be better though," declared Cato.

"Didn't you know, Cato? We're supposed to go in the arena, not be sponsors for each other. I see no need to impress you whatsoever," replied Clove haughtily.

"Oy! You, hurry it up will you! The Capitol's not waiting for you forever!" yelled a frumpy-looking man with a thick Capitol drawl.

"See you later, Clove."

He sprinted off and proceeded to the blue doors Clove twice walked through and confidence was in every inch of his body. Clove was pretty sure he'd win more sponsors for the Career pack, but she also took into consideration that there would only be one winner. And Cato isn't one to be selfless when it came to the Games.

Clove delved further into the small hallway and saw a peacekeeper stationed midway.

"District 2, I believe?"

"Yes."

"Right. In here."

The peacekeeper led her into a cramped elevator, which could only contain a maximum of only two people. He pressed random buttons as she watched him intently, showing no signs of shame as to even question the man of what he was doing. She eventually decided to let it pass, and just let the peacekeeper do his job. Which she admits silently to herself, is very unlike her.

A soft sound signalled the end of the surprisingly brief elevator ride and the peacekeeper asked her to get off on this floor. Actually, she was pushed out of the small elevator, and she was so lucky as to actually maintain her balance on the heels her stylist made her wear. She made it a point to shoot the peacekeeper a menacing glare before the doors of the lift had finally shut.

Metallic walls had surrounded her, from her head down to her feet. Bolts and screws were jutting out of the walls, only the ceiling and the floor remained smooth and flat. In front of her stood a huge metal door matching the material of the four walls. Only this time, the bolts studded the door and formed a humongous '2'.

Heels clattered against the smooth floor as she proceeded towards the door. Her hands hurriedly latched onto the huge doorknob but she hadn't turned it clockwise yet. Tightening her grip, she finally turned it and barged in. Inside were some plush sofas and a counter with a wide array of food. There were also music players and scented candles to choose from, but she could care less. She made a beeline for the white plush sofas, plopped herself down and removed her golden shoes from her aching feet.

Beside her was a remote with plenty of buttons, but from her time at the Capitol, she knew the big red button always meant getting what you wanted. Curiosity got the best of her, leading her to eventually press it. A huge screen appeared in front of her flashing the current interview.

"So Cato, final question. Are you the tribute to beat?"

"Well, Caesar. Modesty has never been my forte. Of course I'm the one to beat."

Clove grew annoyed at the wild cheers of the Capitol people which eventually led her to press the red button again, tossing the remote far from her reach afterwards. Silver butter knives were on the food counter, tempting Clove to stand up just to get one. And stand she did, but she later found out that the knives weren't sharp enough to kill anyone, but a blunt knife could still do enough damage just in case anyone had something plotted against her. Her right hand was tightly gripping the largest butter knife as she groggily trudged towards the white sofas again. She plopped herself down, letting her whole body relax except for her tense hand. A gray pillow was situated within her arm's reach; she hurriedly pulled it close to her head with her left hand and she had resorted to a quick nap. Her eyes fluttered shut and her feet hoisted up automatically in what seems to be a comfortable position in which to sleep.

* * *

The door seemed to ring making Clove wake up from her sleep. She looked in every direction she could possibly look at but she saw no signs of incoming danger. Perhaps it was only the lift taking other tributes to different floors, she thought. But then the doorknob began to wobble and she had an inkling that she was under attack. She quickly leapt, quick on her feet, and darted for the door.

"Someone's got a knife. We got a badass over here."

"Oh, Cato."

"Now if only you got an extra knife to bring into the arena for guessing right."

He looked like hot mess. His coat was unbuttoned all the way, his necktie hung loose around his neck and draped over his white button-down shirt, which was ironically, unbuttoned until his mid-torso. Clove wondered why Cato seemed so dishevelled despite the fact that he had only come from his interview.

"On the contrary, Cato, it wasn't a guess, you already showed your face," Clove spat back.

"No need to be so harsh."

Cato walked over to the food counter with his eyes set out on a thick slab of roast beef on a golden plate. He grabbed a golden knife and a golden fork to match to slice his steak. Tension grew thicker between them and the knife scratching unpleasantly on the plate didn't really help the whole situation.

"Why do you look like…that?" Clove questioned, breaking the silence.

"Like…" Cato trailed off.

"That."

"You have to be more specific, Clove."

Clove stood up with the knife in her right hand, headed towards Cato. She couldn't take it anymore. Anything she wanted, she shall get. Even if it's information.

As she was making her way to Cato one heavy step at a time, Cato took time in chewing his steak slowly.

"I'm not playing games here, Cat-"

"Why must you know? Does it kill you inside that I've been…gallivanting around the studio without you?" Cato asked teasingly.

Clove couldn't comprehend how she got into such a situation. Cato towered over her, and he was gripping her right wrist with his left hand. His right hand slowly crawled up her thigh, proceeding upwards to her waist.

"Please do enlighten me."

Clove stared into Cato's eyes awestruck and dumbfounded. She felt Cato's hand snaking up her back, then stopping at her nape. Clove got shocked as Cato's cold fingertips caressed her hairline.

"I'm not jealous, Cato. How could you be so concei-"

Cato tightly pulled Clove's hair and head was forced back. Her breathing turned shaky. She tried to get free from Cato's grip but he was too strong. _Of all the damn moments, Clove. Why now. _

"Well, Clove, are you?" Cato audibly whispered.

"N-no," answered Clove in staggering breath.

There was only one thought floating through Clove's head. She had to get out of this situation fast. Any more minutes, even seconds, could potentially kill her. She didn't fear her physical death. She feared the death she'd face if _Cato_ found out she had feelings. Not just Cato, but _the whole of Panem_. The façade of invincibility she tried so hard to build, and a wall around her heart, it could all potentially crumble down.

Desperation took over her, fully deciding to escape with an effective, but disgusting counterattack. Her throat became slippery in a heartbeat. Her left hand grabbed his tie in a tight grip, pulling him forward. She flung her head forward with all the force her neck had. And she saw, her spit all over Cato's face. Her left hand was over his chest and she couldn't sense a remote change in his heartbeat. No anger, surprise, nothing.

Clove's eyes widened in shock. How can someone be so emotionless, or at least, how can someone mask it so well? Clove thought she had gone far in controlling her emotions, but she had realized that she had so much more to learn. This weakness could potentially kill her in the arena, and no tribute living wanted that. Her grip around his tie tightened in a vain attempt to catch him off-guard. Instead of what she expected, he let out a deep and scornful laugh.

He immediately let go of her and got a napkin from the table to wipe his face. He walked away from her, fidgeting. Clove's feet were glued to her spot on the floor. She could only watch his figure get smaller as she mentally berates herself. She didn't know what to do. Her right hand sought comfort in the silver butter knife.

Cato turned around, laughing. "You", he said, pointing at her, "Do you really think you can win? In a situation like that you would've _died_, even before you had the chance to spit on _anybody's_ face," he finished, belittlement in his every word.

She watched Cato speak more, but she could hear nothing, only seeing his lips form words. Her face drained of its color, her right hand losing all sense of life as her dull butter knife fell to the carpeted floor. The coldness from the metal knife that hit her feet knocked her out of her trance. She swallowed long and hard in feeble attempt to gather what was left of her courage. Her fists clenched in anger and frustration.

"You're wrong," she said audibly.

Cato stopped smearing soft cheese on his warm bread. He turned to look at her.

"What was that?" he retorted, challenging her.

"I said you were wrong," repeated Clove, straightening her posture.

He began to walk towards her in long strides. The noise in his steps was muffled by the carpet. Before he could get close, Clove stared at him in the eye.

"All I'm saying is, anyone can still win, Cato. You haven't killed me. With you having the time to fool around and get me in that situation, you should be worried. Do I drive you that wild? Keep it together, Cato. If you let that happen in the arena, we could both die," Clave said sternly.

"You're full of yourself."

"That's what you think, but you can't hide how you held me, and you can't hide what I saw in your eyes."

It may have been in a short moment, but Clove saw Cato's eyes widen greatly. She knew Cato had something against her, but she had something against Cato, and their weaknesses might just be one and the same.

* * *

Sorry for those expecting a make-out session. You might not be getting it any time soon. I'm not ready for smut. :| Reviews are greatly appreciated!


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